The Laundry Boy (Patreon)

All characters are 18+

Multi-part

I was given the title of Class Clown when I was a kid, and nothing changed as I grew up. I knew I was a thorn in the side of every single teacher who had the unfortunate task of trying to actually teach me anything. I wasn't a dumb kid either, I was actually pretty fucking smart, but I had the attention span of a carrot, so sitting me in a classroom for hours on end was never going to work, and the school decided that after the fifth suspension, I wasn't worth the stress anymore.

I got in trouble constantly. I'm talking multiple times a day, and looking back, I'm not too sure why they even kept me around. Now you're probably thinking I was one of the popular kids, that I had lots of friends egging me on and laughing at my stupidity, but you'd be wrong. I wasn't even close to being one of the popular kids.

By the time I reached my last year of high school I was eighteen, skinny, a little scruffy and still a mischievous little monster. The popular people were the footballers, the wrestlers, the swimmers, the cheerleaders, you know, all those athletic motherfuckers.

Anyway, I hated the footballers. I guess I had no real reason to hate them, so it was more out of jealousy than anything else. I was also gay, which didn't help things, but that was a secret that I'd take to my grave with me. The footballers were hot. I'm talking hot hot. There were muscular guys, skinny guys, guys with blond hair, guys with red hair, angry guys, friendly guys, they literally had a guy for every possible fantasy, and boy did I have a lot of those.

I had a few months left in school when I decided that I'd fuck with them. It had the potential to be the worst possible mistake I'd ever made, but I rarely looked beyond what would happen a minute in the future, so when they were all in class, and with the knowledge that they had a big game after school, yours truly sneaked into their changing rooms and utilised a video that I'd watched a few days prior.

You might be wondering why I died their white jerseys pink, and I can offer no reasonable explanation other than that I thought it would be funny. And it was funny! For a while at least. You see, I had timed my prank perfectly, giving the team no chance to find new kits and so when the two schools sat down and watched a bunch of furious looking footballers run onto the pitch wearing bright pink jerseys, it was extremely entertaining.

What wasn't entertaining however, was when my headmaster plucked me up by my shirt and marched me to his office. Oh I got a stern telling off for that one indeed. He was a big football fan, so toying with his prized possessions like that was something that would have been punishable by death if he'd had his way.

Thankfully however, my headmaster was unable to slaughter me in his office, so he listed out a ton of other punishments which seemed to please him. Suspension for three days, a public apology to the team and students, a months worth of detentions and finally, the cherry on top, the pièce de résistance, I had been promoted, or demoted, to the laundry boy. Oh the humiliation.

The title hadn't existed until that day. Mr. Hannon had created it on the spot to add insult to injury. My job description was quite simple. I'd stand with a basket and receive the sweaty, stinking kits that the football team smugly dumped into it, and then I'd hand wash every single item.

At first, I was furious. Why would he do this to me? Me the endless entertainer of the school. The boy who kept the teachers on their toes, the legend of Brenwick High! And his answer was simple, because I can.

So when my suspension came to an end and I walked through the hallways to boos and snide remarks, I felt like shit. All through the day, I became the butt of all the jokes, and the worst part about the whole thing? I had a two hour job to do once school had ended, that involved the terribly humiliating ordeal of being the laundry boy.

Mr. Hannon accompanied me down to the changing rooms before football practice ended. He wanted me to suffer, that much was very clear. He put the basket in my hands and positioned me next to one of the lockers inside the sweaty, musky room and smiled widely at me.

"It suits you" he told me, with a ruffle of my hair, "maybe you have some potential after all".

I snarled, and he left.

Needless to say, the football team weren't exactly happy with me, but thankfully they were law abiding young men so they didn't beat me to a pulp. Instead, when the burly teenagers crammed inside the changing rooms covered in sweat, dirt, and god knows what else, they took turns taunting me.

"Not so funny now, is it?" One of them sneered, peeling off his sweat drenched shirt and dangling it under my nose. "Get a nice whiff, you're going to get used to it".

"Oh sorry, I slipped" another giant of a student laughed as he rammed his moist armpit against my face.

The room erupted with cheers and laughter.

Was I humiliated? Yes. Was this shaping up to be the worst few weeks in history? Also yes. So why then, you may wonder, was my cock straining in the tightness of my briefs? Well, as disgusting as you might think it was, the heavy stench of twenty plus sweaty teenagers was like a dream come true.

The more I stood there being teased by them, the harder I became, and for the first time in my life, I was thankful that my parents still bought me tighty-whities, because otherwise my boner would have been visible to all who looked.

The captain of the team, a brutally handsome young man by the name of Harry approached me. He was like a real life Prince Charming, with a clump of messy blond hair, golden skin and deep blue eyes, and a jawline that could cut through steel.

Having the young man approach me was one thing. Having the young man approach me wearing nothing more than a white jockstrap was something else entirely. The room almost fell silent as they awaited what was to happen next.

"Did you think pink looked good on us?" He asked with a grin, and I did everything in my power to keep my eyes from drifting over his magnificent body.

"Well I think this will look great on you" he added, and have you ever gotten that feeling where you just want to press a button and stop everything so you can spend the rest of your fucking life gazing upon the most wonderful sight ever known to man? That's what I felt like when Harry fucking Parsons pulled down his jockstrap and unleashed a chubby pole that dangled heavily between his muscular thighs.

My mouth fell open, and I didn't even care that the entire football team were on the verge of wetting themselves with laughter as Harry fixed his hot, sweaty jockstrap over my head so that the ripe, wet crotch hugged my nose and mouth.

"And you can stay like that" he told me, patting my shoulder as more and more jerseys, shorts, socks, and underwear were launched into the basket.

Some of them actually went into the basket, but the vast majority landed in various places on and around my body until the entire football team waddled around the changing rooms naked, and I strongly considered returning to Mr. Hannon's office and thanking him with every fibre of my body.

It took the team about twenty minutes to shower, dress and leave. Twenty minutes of inhaling cock stench into my lungs. Twenty minutes of pouring pre-cum into my underwear. Twenty minutes of an erection that threatened to blow a hole through my trousers.

"Good boy" Harry smirked as he walked by with his bag over his broad shoulder. "Make sure it's nice and clean for tomorrow".

The locker room emptied out, and finally I managed to tongue the sweaty fabric into my hungry mouth. It tasted even better than it smelled. The strong, sharp flavours of the hot young man mingled with my saliva and drained down my throat. The taste of salty liquids lingered on my tongue as I dropped the basket and squeezed myself.

I pulled them off me, gazing down at the sea of dirty laundry and realised that I was about to go on the journey of a lifetime, all because I was the new laundry boy.